


Peace Restored

by alkjira



Series: Three [8]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fix-It, M/M, Multi, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2013-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-05 02:29:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1088525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alkjira/pseuds/alkjira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Follows diemarysues' fic Peace Shatters, because I couldn't leave our boys like that. For those who've read it: note how the tag for character death isn't used and the tag Fix-It is? </p><p>For those who haven't, go read it if you have read our other Dwalin/Bilbo/Thorin stories, and if you've not read those then what are you waiting for? GO READ THEM. Duh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peace Restored

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Peace Shatters](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1081258) by [diemarysues](https://archiveofourown.org/users/diemarysues/pseuds/diemarysues). 



> I think my fics and diemarysues' fics are as close to symbiotic as ficly possible. Sooner or later we'll independently of each other write the same fic, and then the world will either be sucked into a black hole or just taken over by cathamsters. 
> 
> My vote goes towards the latter.

Bilbo bent to grab the small bag of Thorin’s things that had collected during his much too long stay in the hospital. When he straightened up his eyes fell on the empty bed, and for a moment a piercing spear of ‘what-if’ lodged itself in his chest.

They could have lost him. Right now, they could have been coming to collect the belongings of someone who would no longer need any of it. Would not need the hairbrush, the drawings Fíli and Kíli had made, or the clothes, or-

“Get in the damned chair,” Dwalin growled and Bilbo shook his head slightly to clear it.  
  
Thorin was still with them. Everything was still fine. He hadn’t- he was _fine_.

 “I can walk,” Thorin protested, trying to cross his arms and ending up flailing a little as one of his arms was still firmly ensconced in plaster and wouldn't quite move as he wished. Right now those clumsy layers of white was the most obvious reminder of what the last month of their life had been like, and Bilbo couldn’t wait until it was gone.  
  
In a way he loved the dratted thing, because it was proof that Thorin had made it, that he was healing, and that each day meant that he was a little healthier. But Bilbo also _hated_ that how it was a constant reminder of how he’d found Thorin, lying unconscious on the floor, arm sticking out in an angle that was simply _wrong_ and-  
  
“It’s the chair,” Dwalin said firmly. “You heard them.”

The nurses and doctors were probably glad to see them go, for more than one reason, Bilbo mused.  
  
Not only did it mean that a patient had gotten better and was able to leave, but they would also be free of the paparazzi and fans that had taken to stalk the hospital at fairly regular intervals.  
  
And, they wouldn’t have to keep listening to Dwalin’s yelling.  
  
He’d always been fairly protective, of them both, and the last month had not exactly lessened that instinct. Bilbo could understand that, he could, because even if Thorin looked well enough at a glance; with colour returned to his cheek and lips, and the spark back in his eyes, he’d also lost weight, and he held himself more carefully than before, mindful that some movements still hurt. Each time he winced Bilbo just wanted to stuff him into a room full of soft and plush things and try to keep him there for at least five minutes, which would be how much time would pass before Thorin gnawed through a wall and escaped.  
  
Not even the lingering traces of – _blood, Azog laughing_ \- the _incident_ stopped Thorin from being his normal stubborn self.

“They’re being overly cautious.”  
  
“It’s their bloody jobs, _let_ them.”  
  
And what that meant was that since Dwalin couldn’t yet stomach yelling at Thorin, (arguing with, yes, but even that was done more gently than normal) he yelled at the poor nurses instead.  
  
Bilbo’s efforts to get Dwalin to stop had so far always ended with him promising to stop yelling, and then he’d lapsed into guilt ridden remorse when he realised that he’d done it anyway, the next time he felt that Thorin was not being looked after properly.  
  
This had resulted in Bilbo making sure that there was always sweets and other signs of their appreciation in the staff break rooms. Hopefully it made up for some of it.  
  
The nurses had all promised him that they understood, that they were not at all unused to relatives and loved ones becoming ‘upset’ (their words, not his) and that everyone dealt with trauma in different ways. But Bilbo wondered if they’d be as forgiving if most of them hadn’t also seen Dwalin yelling on the telly for the last few years. Some of them might think it was his only method of communication.  
  
“I can walk.”  
  
“D’you want to be _carried_?”  
  
Thorin’s eyes narrowed and Bilbo decided that it was time to end the discussion before it ended with Dwalin going off to yell at someone until they came to force Thorin into the chair, and then Dwalin would probably yell at them for that. Bilbo loved them both, but stubbornness seemed to be a family trait to say the least. 

“Thorin, either you get into the wheelchair, _or_ -,“ the blond stressed as Thorin’s frown turned his way. “-we’ll end up staying here for at least another hour as they produce the paperwork you need to sign to promise that you won’t sue if you end up falling and hurting yourself while still on hospital grounds.”  
  
He wasn’t sure this was exactly true or just something he’d seen on the telly, but desperate times and all that.  
  
“I _can_ walk,” Thorin grumped, proving it by walking over to the wheelchair (Bilbo clenched his fingers into the bag’s straps not to reach to and help him, Dwalin was overprotective enough for both of them, Bilbo didn’t need to make it worse) and sat down with a look of uttermost distaste.

 “And I _can_ carry you,” Dwalin grunted, moving to stand behind the chair. “Put your feet up.”

“You couldn’t,” Thorin grumped, and Bilbo bit his tongue. Thorin hadn’t meant it in that way, but maybe Dwalin _couldn’t_ have. Not _before_. At least not easily. But… Thorin _had_ lost too much weight.

Luckily, that was something Bilbo felt very well equipped to deal with. He planned on making all Thorin’s favourite foods as soon and as often as possible.  
  
Dís, Víli and the boys would be by tomorrow, and so would the rest of the family Bilbo supposed, if they weren’t already camping by Dwalin’s front door, so there were plenty of people to send out for shopping. And it would be fun cooking for so many people, relaxing even. They’d spent so much time at the hospital that he’d almost forgotten what his kitchen looked like.  
  
Hopefully no one else would be camping at their door. Dís had said that she’d hired security to deal with any photographers lurking around, so they would at least have to stay away from the property.  
  
Not that it stopped them from taking photos, but it was something.  
  
Beorn had actually offered to help (which basically meant that he would glare at people until they meekly sidled away) but Bilbo was saving his former landlord for another time.  
  
Maybe for the next ‘scandal’, because sooner or later someone would feel the need to make something up that would require professional glaring.  
  
Perhaps _that_ (the made-up scandals, not the glaring) was the reason why some people actually _did_ rather questionable things, it would at least give them a measure of control what was being written about them.  
  
Bilbo hadn’t paid any attention to the papers for the last month, and Dori had told him that it was for the best. Still, whatever they wrote, it didn’t matter. Thorin was fine. Dwalin was fine. Everything was _fine_.

Smiling slightly at having to be the one to bend down for once, Bilbo kissed Thorin’s cheek. “Thank you.”  
  
Thorin muttered darkly, but grudgingly returned the smile. “Want a ride?” he asked drily, patting his thigh. Bilbo shook his head, resolutely keeping his lips quirked upward even though his mind persisted in flashing him images of the bruises on Thorin’s thighs that were only now beginning to finally fade away.  
  
Thorin didn’t like being treated like he was fragile, and he wasn’t fragile, but… they’d certainly had to come to terms with the fact that he was breakable.  
  
But he was _fine_ , Bilbo reminded himself. He’d just had a… light case of not breathing for a while. But he’d gotten _better_.  
  
It wasn’t until Bilbo felt his nails dig into the bag straps that he realised that he might need a few deep breaths. And from the looks on Thorin’s and Dwalin’s faces, they’d _hadn’t_ conveniently been looking away. They were annoying like that.  
  
“What’s wrong?” Dwalin asked, taking a step around the wheelchair and pressing, gently, down on Thorin’s shoulder when it seemed he would get up again.  
  
“Nothing’s wrong,” Bilbo said, trying to smile. “I’m just happy to be going home.”  
  
The look Thorin and Dwalin exchanged seemed to indicate that they weren’t really buying this, but that they were willing to leave well enough alone for now.  
  
“I won’t argue with that,” Thorin said wryly. “So can we perhaps get going?” The latter was said pointedly to Dwalin who rolled his eyes, but at the same time also gently ran his fingers through Thorin’s neatly tied hair.  
  
“Yes, your majesty. Your carriage is awaiting.”  
  
-  
  
Lying in bed that night felt slightly unreal. They hadn’t been able to share a bed, not the three of them together, since Thorin had been taken to the hospital. While Bilbo might squeeze himself into the hospital bed with Thorin, it was simply not possible for Dwalin to do the same, and obviously not possible for the three of them.  
  
The few nights Bilbo and Dwalin had spent at home had obviously only been the two of them, and that had been…strange. Even though it shouldn’t really have been.

Thorin was often travelling after all, even if he did so much less frequently than before. But it had still been strange. And wrong. The bed had seemed much too big. And that probably hadn’t helped by Bilbo burrowing as close to Dwalin as physically possible without crawling into his skin.  
  
He just hadn’t been able to fall asleep without the steady beating of Dwalin’s heart in his ear. Proof that at least one of the people he loved beyond words were safe.

And now, he had both of them, both safe. And he couldn’t sleep even though exhaustion was clawing at his eyelids. He was lying between his lovers since they didn’t want to risk anyone rolling on top of Thorin’s arm during the night, and Dwalin was big enough to still be able to see and touch Thorin, even with Bilbo between them. (Or perhaps it was that Bilbo was just small.)  
  
Thorin’s hair tickled Bilbo’s cheek; it still smelt faintly of hospital as it had been decided that showers could wait until the morning, but after a month of practically living at Rivendell Hospital it wasn’t really bothering Bilbo. Everything was fine.  
  
His brain just needed to figure out that it was okay to go to sleep. Thorin and Dwalin would still be there in the morning. And so would the ten million other people that had flocked to their house, but since about 9 million of them were relatives, and the rest friends, that was also fine. Dís’ people had done a good job of keeping everyone else away. Everything was-  
  
Thorin drew in a shaky breath and Bilbo was instantly alert, feeling Dwalin tense as well. Trouble breathing? Did something hurt? Was-  
  
Then he let out an equally shaky breath, and sniffed, and when Bilbo tilted his head to look at him, there were tears trickling out from behind Thorin’s closed eyelids. Shining slightly in the low light coming from the window lamp.  
  
“Thorin,” Bilbo breathed, managing to work an arm free to reach up and brush over a wet cheek. “You’re crying.”  
  
Thorin snorted wetly, the sound bearing more than a passing resemblance to a sob. “Really," he said thickly. "I hadn’t noticed.”  
  
“Does anything hurt?” Dwalin rumbled and Bilbo tried to figure out if anything he was doing could be hurting Thorin, they were tangled together enough that he had a bit of a trouble figuring out where his limbs actually were.  
  
“It’s not that,” Thorin huffed, sounding a little offended that they’d figured he’d cry because of something as trivial as pain. “I-, for a while I think I believed that I’d never end up here again. With you.”  
  
“Thorin-“ Bilbo began but Thorin just shook his head.  
  
“No, I- I think I need to say this.  I am so grateful, that I not only have been fortunate enough once to be able to share my life with you, but also how I am now able to continue to do so.” Thorin snuffled again and Dwalin stretched out his hand to curl over Bilbo’s; both of them now cupping Thorin’s cheek. “I don’t say it enough, but I love you both. More than I’ll ever will have words for.”  
  
“Love you.”  
  
“And we love you.”  
  
When Thorin smiled it was shaky, and his cheeks were wet with tears that still kept coming, but it was possibly the most beautiful smile Bilbo had ever seen.  
  
“My darlings,” Bilbo murmured, blinking rapidly to stop the wetness in his own eyes to keep from spilling. That would only guarantee that Dwalin would start as well, and then where would they be? In a very damp bed, that was where.  
  
He shuffled a little closer to Thorin, curling his leg back over Dwalin’s to show that he should follow, and they packed themselves together even more tightly beneath the covers, both Dwalin and Bilbo mindful of not pushing against any of Thorin’s still tender places or his arm.  
  
“I’m afraid to go to sleep,” Bilbo confessed after maybe ten minutes of silence. He could tell by their breathing that neither of his lovers had fallen asleep yet either. “What if I wake up- and-“  
  
“We’ll still be here,” Dwalin murmured. “Unless I’ve needed to bugger off to use the loo, which, considering that someone’s something is pushing against my bladder, is a distinct possibility.”  
  
“I will never fathom why they let you be on nationally broadcasted television,” Thorin said wryly, and Bilbo giggled despite himself.  
  
“Me neither,” Dwalin said, and Bilbo could feel the lying down equivalent of a shrug taking place behind him. “It certainly isn’t ‘cause I’m pretty, unlike some I could mention.”  
  
“I’m not _pretty_ ,” Bilbo said for the thousandth  time, sighing when both Dwalin and Thorin hummed noncommittally. “I’m not,” Bilbo said again, knowing that he sounded sulky but he wasn’t _pretty_. Flowers were pretty. Birds were pretty. Short, chubby chefs, not so much.  
  
“Wait, are you saying that I’m only on telly because I’m pretty?” Bilbo asked after a moments indignant contemplation of what Dwalin had actually said.  
  
“The truth is out,” Dwalin rumbled. “I really think you’re a horrible cook. The fact that we only met because I was stuffing my face with your food was just a plot to get you out of your waistcoat. And how you ended up moving in is a complete mystery.” There was about as much conviction in Dwalin's words as there was snow in the Sahara desert.  
  
“Bilbo, did you just admit to being pretty?” Thorin asked innocently and Bilbo sighed and ignored him.  
  
“It wasn’t really my food anyway, the caterers- mmh? Hmm.“  
  
“Good lad,” Dwalin said approvingly as Thorin, who apparently didn't like being ignored, continued to kiss Bilbo.  
  
It was just a simple press of lips against lips, because there was no way that anyone would sum up the energy for anything else, but it was nice. More than nice.

Dwalin was a warm, solid presence at his back, and Thorin’s breath smelled sweetly of mint, and Dwalin’s hand was stroking gently over Thorin’s hip, his arm brushing Bilbo’s side every so often, and Bilbo could both hear and feel each breath both Dwalin and Thorin took, slow and steady and healthy and _his_ and Bilbo let his eyes fall close.  
  
Between one kiss and the next, he fell asleep.


End file.
